Hypothetical Capacity
by LondonBelow
Summary: Mark's delving into the hypothetical bothers Roger, and Mimi knows why.


**Title: Hypothetical Capacity  
Author: London  
Feedback: Please  
Pairing: Roger/Mimi, Mark/Mimi friendship  
Word Count: 1311  
Rating: PG for one obscenity  
Genre: General. Maybe a teeny, tiny bit of angst.  
Summary: Mark tries to discuss philosophy with Roger, but it's Mimi who has something to say.  
Spoilers: If you know RENT, you're good.  
Warnings: Surprisingly none.  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything RENT related **

_I wish I could tell you how much I love waking up in the morning. The loft smells beautiful now, every morning the bite of fresh air, with burnt toast, coffee and the damp, rosy smell of Mimi. Roger is burnt toast and coffee, always has been, but without her the smell of smoke overwhelmed everything. Without her, he would go days without showering, until the entire loft stank of sweat. Now the windows open and the loft smells sweet and beautiful first thing in the morning._

_I love waking up to that, which is pretty strange because until I met Roger, it took me hours to be fully awake. Now the moment my eyes open, I think and see and remember. _

Mark sank into a chair. The walk from his bed to the table was enough activity first thing in the morning.

From her perch atop the table, Mimi gave a small wave before sucking smears of chocolate off her fingers. For the umpteenth time, Mark wondered why she was dressed first thing in the morning. Did she have pajamas? Was she embarrassed to be seen wearing them?

Roger looked up from the toaster. "Morning," he mumbled, then returned to staring at the glowing wires.

"Hey," Mark replied. At least he had Roger to count on, predictable Roger, always shuffling with half-opened eyes like a newborn puppy before the coffee woke him. "It's… a really nice day," Mark said.

Roger gave him a curious glance. Communication was not a natural talent of Roger's, and usually Mark left the loft quiet until well into the morning. This unaccustomed chattiness disrupted that routine. "Looks like it will be," he muttered.

"Mark, donut?" Mimi asked, offering the box. The donuts had been half-stale when Mark bought them from the discount rack at the back of the supermarket; now it took a dunk into a mug of coffee to banish their rocky quality. Mark took one look at Mimi's breakfast, a donut she had licked the chocolate off of before beginning to eat, and shook his head. She shrugged. "Suit yourself."

"You guys ever wonder what life would be like if we weren't…" Mark motioned, his hands forming an odd not-quite-square shape. "If we hadn't met," he managed at last.

Mimi shrugged again. "Cat Scratch and drugs until I died," she replied frankly before stuffing coffee-soaked donut into her mouth.

"Well, that's… honest," Mark answered. "How about you, Rog?"

Roger shook his head. His eyes were open now, though he kept the coffee mug clutched close. "Don't, man," he said. The toaster rang out and sent slightly blackened bread flying into the air with surprisingly fury. With a practiced ease, Roger caught the toast in his mouth and carried it to the table.

Mark frowned, dispirited to feel his forehead frown with him. "Don't what?" he asked.

Roger bent towards the table and opened his mouth, letting the toast slide out. "I don't do that hypothetical shit," he said.

"Why not?" Mark wondered.

"Because... Because what if I never met April, didn't start using, what if she didn't kill herself? What if I was still with Well Hungarians? What if you hadn't dropped out of Brown? What if Benny still lived here, and Collins still lived here, and we weren't sick? No," Roger finished, shaking his head, "I can't go there, Mark. I can't." He bit the corner off his toast and announced through a mouthful of half-chewed bread, "This is good toast."

Against a wiser voice advising silence, Mark asked, "Why the war on hypotheticals? You could've been happy--"

Roger scoffed. "You want to explore my hypothetical capacity for happiness? Let's explore your hypothetical capacity to live your life instead of recording it." Saying this with an airy tone took great effort, but any other aspect would have been a cruelty, mocking Mark.

"Touché," Mark admitted. "Don't you want to be happy?"

"Yeah, not in a hypothetical capacity. I'm happy here," Roger said, without a hint of sarcasm. He drained the coffee mug and rose to refill it. "You guys want to go to the park today?" he asked. "I dunno, I just… want to go to the park. If you're not busy?" He looked from Mimi to Mark, both shaking their heads. "Great!"

It was after Roger had disappeared, rooting through his clothes-pile for jeans and a decently clean shirt, that Mimi turned to Mark with a contemplative expression. "Mark," she said gently, asking his attention.

"Yeah?"

"I'm really glad I met Roger," she said. "It… kind of… hurts to think about what would've happened otherwise, you know?" When he nodded, though he could not understand, Mimi continued, "And, for what it's worth, knowing you, I'm glad you can still look into your past and not come out crying and angry."

Mark gaped. No one had ever said anything quite so bald to him before, something so simple he could not understand it. Mimi barely spoke with him beyond pleasantries, though she often awoke in his apartment. What could be said to so sudden a confusing revelation? Mark settled on, "Thank you."

Mimi laughed. "You probably don't understand at all," she said, "do you?" It was not an unkind question, and Mark admitted the truth of it. "It's like… that scar on your back. How did you get it?" she asked.

Again, Mark was taken by surprise. She knew about the scar? When had she seen his back? "Roger… was going through withdrawal. I tried to keep him from leaving the loft and he shoved me harder than he meant to." Mark shrugged it off. "It was an accident."

"See? That's what it's like for us. We tell our stories by the marks on our flesh. We learn how to be happy, how to feel beautiful instead of shy, write angry rock music instead of feeling, how to love waking up and knowing that you love the person in your arms or the friend in the next room. Mark?" she asked. He was staring at her, open-mouthed. "We learn how to make ourselves happy," she said. "No day but today."

"Hey!" Roger called, leaning into the room, "Are we going to the park or not? Stop wasting time and get dressed, Mark!"

Dizzy with information, Mark staggered to his feet. He barely heard Roger asking Mimi, "What did you tell him?"

The film Mark shot that day was replayed over and over until he saw it in his dreams, looking for some hint of the unhappiness and fury buried within Mimi and Roger. This never bubbled to the surface. Mark watched the film again and again, but he saw only two lovers completely engrossed in one another, friends in a snowball fight, New Yorkers pretending to be tourists in Central Park. He had even filmed Mimi asleep in snowy Sheep's Meadow, during that brief afternoon nap when Roger had proved himself a decent pillow.

Mimi and Roger always looked happy, and Mark could have understood had he dared sneak out from behind his camera and experience the simple thrills of a good day.

_Roger's a loose cannon. I never know if he'll react with anger, sorrow, joy to whatever questions. When I asked him if he considered our hypothetical lives, the words he used were angry, but he was not. Roger smiled as he spoke of a drug-free, uninfected existence, and I can only assume he did so because he is satisfied with his life. I don't ask. I consider myself a good friend to him, but I never understood until Mimi told me why._

_I have always questioned my choices, especially when the decisions I make are based on feelings. I left Brown because it felt wrong and every day, I questioned. The funny thing is, Roger's reaction did not make me stop questioning, but it did make me question the questions. _

End.

I hope you enjoyed; reviews are appreciated.


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